Angel Beats: Succession
by paladin313
Summary: The Successor remains, but not all went as it should, as he leads a new front against what he sees as the tyranny of God. Now there is a new class with new souls and new challenges to face. Can this class succeed in putting aside differences and help each other to see the light?
1. Chapter 1

Angel Beats: Succession

Forward

For the aid of the reader, I wanted to let you know that this story is a continuation off the alternate ending given in this story by the writers. This deals with one known only as the Successor, but not much else is known or said. He takes over things, and so I had my springboard into the story you currently read. I hope that I have not taken too many liberties with the world in which this happens to where you could not recognize it.

Prologue

He was known only to his comrades as The Successor. He was quiet, aloof, and was not one you would have considered a conversationalist. He was called this by this name because, according to the many students they well knew to be entities created by the Powers that Be that set up this world to act as filler personalities against which the real people there could interact, there had been another rebellious group, but they had decided to allow themselves what the Successor believed to be oblivion. In fact, the previous class president knew of them, but it was not long after the Successor came that he too opted for oblivion for some reason. When that happened, the school then lacked a class president. The Powers that Be normally would have tapped a regular person to run and be elected, yet, for some reason, one of what could be best described as unpersons, what the Front like to call the paroles, was selected. When that happened, the Successor cracked a slight smile, and then said, "This is our best chance! We now must do all we can to disrupt every aspect of the operations of this school, so that the fools who choose to play by the rules have no chance for oblivion. Remember: we do that for their own good. No one shall stand in our way! We shall make God pay for every injustice he has ever allowed on mankind, including this Hell He created to torment us beyond the grave! Long live the Front!"

This was met by a cheer of the 20 or so members of the Front. It was even hoped that, if they were able to win enough over, they could gain all humans to their side to be able to keep themselves alive and avoid the torture and then destruction they figured God was foisting upon them.

He was coming out of the Hostel again with yet another of his friends. The fire raged horribly in the night sky, and it was becoming harder for the fire fighters to control the blaze. Robert Toombs was trying to catch his breath, looking back, and, spying in the flames, Father O'Malley directing another out of the burning hell that had once been their home. Rob had already suffered first degree burns, but went back in time and time again for people. He was exhausted, and was going to get everyone out, even if it killed him.

Rob was a runaway, having left a troubled home in a small village in Northern Alberta, Canada at age 12. For four years, he had wandered, living on the streets most of the time, and in hostels when he could scrape up the money for a stay, as long as it lasted. However, for the past year and a half, he had been living in Calgary, going to school and learning freestyle wrestling. He even won the provincial championship in the heavyweight division, having built himself to about 220 lbs of wiry muscle. Father O'Malley had been acting as a mentor to him, and now had him in training for mixed martial arts, essentially learning the art of Pankration as he went. He had become so dedicated, that he became a good fighter and excellent student. However, because of an accident in the gas main, the building was now ablaze. His hopes were going up in smoke, but now he was going to give back the good he got by seeing everyone survive.

Now everyone was out, save for Father O'Malley, and, upon spotting him through the flames, he saw he was having trouble getting out. Wide-eyed and panicked, he charged towards the building, only to be stopped by the fire fighters, being told, "Son, it's too late! She's about to go flash-over, and we can get in there!"

"NO!" he screamed, "There's a path! I see him! Let me go!"

He fought them, and eventually used an MMA counter to break free, charging into the holocaust. "Hold on, Father! I'm coming!" he screamed, wanting to save the man who had done so much for him. Yet, ten seconds after he was lost from sight, the building erupted further, belching great flames out of every orifice of the building, and then collapsing. All the survivors could do was stare in sorrow. The fire chief looked at the rest and said, "That boy is going to be remembered forever. We'll make sure of that! I just hope, wherever he ended up, gives him peace."

Chapter 1

When he opened his eyes, he was in a vast pine forest. The climate would have been considered perfect: not to hot or cold, and very comforting. He stood up, extremely disoriented and confused. For a moment or two, he thought he was dreaming, and he had to pinch himself to see if he was awake. He could remember the eruption of the flames as if a bomb had gone off, and that was the last thing he recalled before the heat sucked the breath out of his lungs and he opened his eyes in this place. What was odd was the lack of forest sounds. It was eerily quiet, with not even the sound of a bird or insect to be heard. Yet, one thing he could hear faintly was the sound of laughter, talking, and shouting as if there were people playing at some sport. He began to wonder if he was in heaven as he walked towards the sounds he could hear, but when he scratched his hand on a thorn as he went, that quickly changed his mind. From what Father O'Malley had told him, you weren't supposed to feel pain. It was then he noticed the clothes he was wearing. He was wearing a tan sports jacket with a white collar shirt and red tie, black slacks, and casual shoes. "Okay, this is weird," he thought, still shook and not quite all there as his brain was trying to adjust to the new surroundings. Soon, he came to a tall tree that could be climbed, and he decided he was going to get his bearings.

He had climbed a good way when he was able to breach the canopy and get a look around. As far as the eyes could see there were trees. There were no mountains, and no sign of civilization for miles, until he caught sight of the school. It looked like some cult leader had stuck an exclusive compound in the middle of the forests of Quebec. Moreover, he could see some movement and put bodies to the voices, and sensibility told him that he would get his answers there.

He came down and headed towards the compound, and before long, he broke the wood line but went no further. He was not certain what people would do at the sight of a stranger, so he kept his distance. However, he wondered if he would blend in, when, as he observed, he saw several boys there wearing what he was wearing, and girls wearing what was tantamount to a sailor suit with short skirts. It looked like a private school, but what struck him the more was that there was only so many like that. The rest was in similar outfits, but they were all wearing dark colors. His heart was pounding now, sitting between the decision of whether or not to keep going or run for his life. Along with that came all the questions in his head about where he was, what this was, and more, how it was he was wearing what they were wearing. He swallowed back his fear, taking a deep breath, trying to calm his trembling as he went forward. As he did, the ones in the dark colors paid him no mind, and others gave a simple greeting as if he had been there for years. The ones dressed like him were whispering back and forth, pointing and chatting. One in particular with a serious look spotted him and started to head towards him, but some teachers came up and said, "Oh, there you are, Robert. How was the hike?"

He looked at them in shock that they knew his name, and he also seemed to understand the language in which they spoke. It was not like any language on the face of the Earth, yet, somehow, he understood. He said, "How in the name of common sense do you know my name?"

He was more rattled when he heard the language come out of his own mouth, but still able to be understood. One pointed at his jacket and said, "Your name tag, silly."

He looked down at writing he had never seen unlike any other he knew on earth, and yet he could read it. It indeed had his first and last names, and middle initial: Robert P. Toombs. One said, "Come on, son, your classmates are getting ready for some volleyball."

Before he could protest or ask any questions, he was swept away.

Successor was not happy. He had seen the new student and wanted to get to him before the parole teachers did, but it was too late. He had to be new, because it was a face he had never seen before. Moreover, he liked getting to them first, because he was normally able to convince them to join the Front from the start. However, not all the students trusted the front, and avoided them. They believed what the teachers said about attending classes, not realizing that it led to eventual oblivion. He had seen too many vanish, and he was determined not to let it happen anymore. He gathered those that were near and said, "You two: find out where the paroles are putting him and bring him to me tonight. Bring him peaceably if possible, forcibly if not. Remember: it's for his own good."

They both nodded and began to make a plan for that night.

Rob was still confused, but some with the same uniform as he came over and said, "Relax: you're going to be okay."

"Yeah, right!" he said, "And I'm Boffo the Clown!"

"Really?" said another with a laugh, "Are you wearing your make-up now?"

"Are you calling me ugly?" he snapped, "Dude, you're so ugly, you couldn't get a date if I tape a $100 bill to your forehead!"

The group all looked at each other, grinned, and nodded. Then one said, "Dude, you're going to fit right in. Come on, we'll get you a room and explain what's going on."

However, he wasn't going to go that easily, saying, "Right, so you can brainwash me and gang rape me!"

"Whoa," said another, "Chill out! Nothing's going to happen to you! You must have had quite a temper in life."

"In...life..." Rob responded, and then turned pale, saying, "How do you know about—that?"

"That's right," another answered, "You must have _just_ got here. Alright, we'll take it one step at a time. Are you hungry?"

"A little," he answered.

"Then check your wallet," he said, "You should have a slip that looks like this."

He held up the slip, and it had writing on it for a certain kind of dish. The boy then said, "It's a meal ticket. If you attend class every day and do what you are supposed to, you'll find money to buy the meal tickets from machines in the cafeteria in your wallet for each meal, though it hasn't been easy lately."

Rob pulled out his wallet and found the slip there. The first one that spoke said, "That one is complimentary for newcomers, but the rest come as you do as we have said."

He robotically put it back, and began to feel woozy. The others settled him, and one said, "Sensory overload: happens every time."

"Come on," said another, "Let's get him sat down and go slowly with him."

With that, they took him to the cafeteria.

He now lay in his new room, surprised a whole wardrobe was there for him including more school clothes, undergarments, physical fitness clothes, and even civilian wear, including an Irish Glenn Gary, white wool sweater, green plain kilt marking his Irish heritage, and a Celtic lap harp, of which he was an expert player. It was as if someone was expecting him and did all he could to help him settle in. Even the sheets were far more comfortable than what he had at the hostels. It actually made him feel comfortable, because, though it was all still highly strange to him, this was the first real home he ever had since running away. He was still trying to wrap his mind around all he had been told, laying on top of the comforter, and still in the uniform as he drifted off, pondering what he had been told.

Once he had gotten a hold of himself, he was stunned to find out that everyone there who was dressed as they all died in sad ways. Worse, some had lost their memories of the past, and he was told they were harder to help settle in. However, the only thing they knew was being told them from the teachers and the council president, (whom they called paroles, for some reason,) assuring them that the best thing to do was attend class and follow the school rules. They were forced to agree when they felt the overwhelming peace and confidence on them that they were doing the right thing. Yet, he also told him that it seemed that, from time to time, one classmate or another would seem to vanish, and no one really knew why. They only assumed that it had to be okay, because, whenever someone did, it was usually done in a euphoria, and an overwhelming peace overcoming him or her before they left. They then said, "But watch out for the Front."

"Okay, what's that," he said, looking at them oddly.

"It is a group of about 20 students or so," one answered, "They are mostly people made up of those that died badly, and blame God for their dilemma. They think this place is some kind of detention or Hell, and God's last cruel joke on people. They think disappearing is oblivion, and they believe they are doing the right thing by disrupting things in school to the point where it is hard for people to get to that state of mind. They love to grab newbies like you, and are even happier with the amnesia cases, because they are easier to convince."

"You resisted," said Rob, "How did you do that?"

Another answered, "Their leader is called the Successor. He set me off that things were amiss from the start, and the way he talked I knew was off the wall. First of all, I don't blame God for why I am here, or what happened. However, I do have a few regrets about how things went, because there were things that I have not reconciled. Trust me: all of us have had rough lives and rough endings. There were things we never fulfilled in life, but that can't be helped now. All we know is, we're here, and it is not as bad as the Successor makes it out to be."

"Why do they call him that?" asked Rob in return.

"No one really knows," said the first, "Yet, no one really cares. I mean, he wants to stay outside the system and struggle, and shake up our lives. He needs to get over himself."

"How does he eat?" asked Rob.

"He has to steal meal tickets from the paroles," was the answer, "and they have to get clever to do it, though it hasn't been hard as of late. There really hasn't been anyone who could oppose them. We're hoping to find one of us to run for the council. If we can, we might be able to get some kind of protection."

"He sounds like an idiot!" answered Rob, "Some fools always have to try to ski uphill. Buck the system long enough, and sooner or later, it's going to buck back. Time on the streets taught me that."

"You lived on the streets?" said one girl, sounding all concerned. With that, he shared his story. He then said, "I so regret not being able to get him out. He did so much for me, and I just have to know if he made it to heaven. He was a saint, and deserved it."

"Looks like you have your regrets as well," stated the girl.

"A few," he answered, "That, and that my home life sucked like a new Hoover vacuum cleaner, never having a stable home anywhere we went. I never had a normal childhood. MMA was going to be my way out."

"Hey, you have friends now," she assured him, "We'll look after you as long as you are here. Just remember that people come and go, so if someone is gone, just know they moved on to something better, or we hope so. It seems so considering how happy they are when it happens."

It was on that last part he was pondering when he drifted off to sleep. It made him shiver to think that it might be he could just disappear for no reason, but he had to trust it was okay. Whatever power put him here must know what he or she, even what it, is doing, because this situation was a vast improvement over everything else he had ever faced.

The pair assigned to take him had found out where they had roomed him, and crept quietly and stealthily to his door. They also had gags and rope handy if he resisted, but they hoped he would be reasonable. When they got there, they found the door was locked. One whispered to the other, "Yeah, he's new. Still living like he's back in the real world."

With that, they picked the lock and went in. The room was dark, and dimly lit by the moonlight coming into the room. They saw a form under the sheets and went to it. "Robert," called out one, "Wake up, we need to talk..."

And that was all he got out. He felt something hard come across the back of his head, and then lost consciousness. The other realized a second too late that the shape in the bed was the pillows arranged in a certain fashion to look like someone was in bed. This was followed by someone grabbing his wrist and snapping him into the wall hard. He then felt two muscular arms go around his head and neck as stars began to fill his vision, and then he lost consciousness as well.

Robert, because of his time living on the street, had learned to sleep light, and had always done so out of habit. The sounds of the lock being jimmied open woke him like a shot, and he knew someone was breaking in. He quickly and quietly set up the pillows and silently switched off the light. Once they entered, he took the foot of the lap harp and clobbered the one. He then slammed the other and caught him in a rear naked choke. By this point, other students had come around to see the commotion and come to find two members of the Front tied up with the very rope they intended to use on Rob. Before long, teachers came with other paroles and hauled them off to the detention center. Another teacher apologized to Robert, and advised him to continue to keep the door locked from now on, and that the Front was bad news. He also said, "If you do that, and keep the grades up we got from where you were before, you have a good shot and student council president."

The teacher patted him on the back and the other students gave him thumb's-up, save for those who were of the Front, now worried that this one could be trouble for them. He was far cleverer than what they first assumed. Successor would not be happy.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Successor heard about what happened the night before, and he was both encouraged and unhappy at the same time. He was encouraged, because, if he could win over Rob, he had a strong ally and fighter, probably second only to his own skill. Yet, he was unhappy, because, after what happened, it would be hard to win him over. Worse, because of how contented he was becoming so quickly, he feared he might go into oblivion before he had a chance to save him. He paced the floor wondering what to do, and he figured he would have no choice but to take the direct approach. He gambled on letting a day or two pass before he talked to Rob, wanting the heat to blow over, yet, he did not want to go longer than that lest he lost yet another one.

Rob, however, watched how things went for those couple of days, and he did not like how this front operated. To him, they were nothing but a bunch of jackbooted bullies who only had enough guts to go after the paroles. What they did was to isolate a handful here or there, fleece them for their meal tickets, and move on. The paroles always looked sad when it happened, but it was not but a few minutes later, and they were back to normal, and back in the cafeteria buying more meal tickets. Why he felt sorry for them, he did not know, knowing they were only the robotic creations of some higher force he had yet to understand. Still, what he saw set him wrong, because, if they had been real people, they probably wouldn't have been able to replace what was lost so quickly. Moreover, it was clear they only knew how to pick on those weaker than them, and one way or another, he was going to do something about it.

It was not but a day and a half later that announcements were made for an election for Student Council President. The only requirements were that one had to have top marks, and that they had to have had a clean record with the school. Those who had observed Rob suggested him, but he was reluctant to run. He felt he had not been there long enough, and it would not be right. Yet, when this was said in earshot of some paroles, they all began to act like he was the best thing since sliced bread and he should indeed run. However, he begged it off and just wanted to get used to the system first. It was different from anything else that he had ever seen, and had to assume that this was what a private school was like in life. Events would happen that would quickly change his mind.

That evening, he was turning in his meal ticket when he spotted Successor come in. Quickly taking his food, he tried to find a quiet spot from everyone where he could be left alone. Yet, he wasn't there for five minutes when Successor found him and set his plate of beef stew down across from Rob and sat. He was stoic, but fairly cordial in his speech as he spoke through an Oxford English accent and said, "So, how has school been for you? How do you like it?"

"Are you asking because you don't know?" responded Rob, "I never see you in class."

"Well, there is a reason for that," said Successor, glad that Rob had opened the door for him that quickly, "and because of what could happen to you, I wanted to talk to you about that reason."

"Is that what you wanted your goons to talk about?" he said through his brow, "Everyone said that that's who tried to grab me that night."

Successor waved it off and said, "I ask your forgiveness for those two; subtlety has never been their strong suit."

"You can say that again," Rob retorted, "The way I see your boys treat the paroles..."

"A necessary evil, I'm afraid" Successor answered, cutting him off, "When you stay outside the system for your own safety as we, you do what you must to survive."

"Stay outside the system—why do you do that?"

"Ah, that's the reason I talk to you now: your very existence is at jeopardy."

Rob looked at him like a calf looking at a new gate. He then finally said, "Are you referring to when someone moves on? In fact, one of the guys that helped me settle in popped out of here just yesterday. He seemed very happy when it happened."

"That is merely a side effect," he said, "I leave that to disorientation of not knowing what is happening to you when it takes place."

"When what takes place?"

"When one goes into oblivion."

Rob sighed and said, "Okay, you made the effort to get the few brain cells you have working enough to talk to me; tell me your story."

Successor gripped his temper, not liking the rapier-like tongue of the newcomer, sighed, and said, "Can't you see the cruel joke God has played on all of us? Everyone of us has a story here, and I can tell you that none of us had a happy or otherwise normal life before our lives were cruelly snuffed out. For example, my family moved to India when I was an infant, our town was taken over by infiltrating terrorists, living so close to the Pakistan border. They stole everything we had and constantly treated us cruelly, torturing us whenever they could. Despite all that, the local Indians taught me varied styles of their martial arts, merely to defend myself against the terrorists who were also harassing them. That was the only solace I had, and had managed to make some friends out of the locals. Yet, when I was about 16, it all came to a head. As for myself, I kept praying that God or whoever was out there would deliver us, but it never seemed that deliverance would come. The terrorists would hurt the locals, rape the women with impunity since they were so far from help, killed whoever tried to get help, and made our lives a living hell."

"Dude," said Rob, "I am sympathetic to a horror story like that, but, what does that have to do..."

Successor raised his hand as if to say he had more to tell, stopping Rob, and said, "Eventually, things came to a head. The locals managed to get word out to a nearby militia, and we all hoped to fight off their next incursion. Sadly, the terrorists caught wind of it and took hostages—many of my friends and my parents. When I tried to resist, they captured me, they told me that, if I wanted them all back alive, all I had to do was deliver a bomb to another village where some of their men were. If I did that, they would let them go. Thus, I took the device, got there as fast as I could, delivered it, and then headed back. However, when I returned, everything was in flames. I went to where everyone was, but when I got into that room, the monsters had slit their throats. They were going to kill them regardless of what happened to me. I screamed in rage at how cruel God had been to me and them, and I vowed revenge, but the bomb they had placed in that building went off, and it collapsed on me."

Rob tried to speak again, but Successor continued, "When I arrived, I was disoriented, but the then Student Council President Otonashi found me and set me up. In fact, after getting to know me, and having me meet some people there, he told me that it seemed I was selected to take his place. This is how I came to be known as the Successor. I wasn't sure where that was going, but, I assumed he was going to tell me the next day. However, when I went to find him, I discovered that he was gone. He had vanished. I was angered that I just lost another friend, and before long, more and more of them vanished, and others came in to take their place. I had no idea where they went, but all I knew was that my friends were being constantly taken from me. That was it for me. I was not about to be a part of something like that, so, I gathered those of like mind, knowing they also knew what God was up to, and formed the Front. In order to survive, we stay outside the system, and hopefully, draw out God enough to face him down for not playing the game. We try to keep others from disappearing by disrupting things as much as possible. We are not 100% successful, but we have slowed the process enough."

"Okay, what do you want with me?" asked Rob.

"Join us," Successor said simply, "Join us and survive."

"I am a pretty good survivor as it is," answered Rob, eating and not even looking at him.

"Not if you keep up your current course," answered Successor, "Trust me, it will happen to you as well. You must have a major grudge against God. From what I understand, you had something tragic happen to you."

Now Rob knew he was dealing with someone whose situation must have rattle a few screws loose. His concern seemed genuine enough, but, bearing such a grudge, he had to guess Successor's judgment was skewed. "First of all, Skippy," said Rob, "I don't have a grudge against God."

"Surely you don't believe that God was not wronging you," retorted Successor.

"He didn't wrong me," he answered, "And don't call me Shirley. In fact, considering where I came from, this is much better than what I had. I have three hots and a cot, new friends, all kinds of clothes, and a secure place to stay for the first time in my life. I wouldn't have any regrets, except that, now that I am in the afterlife, and don't see Father O'Malley here, and I regret not knowing where he ended up. I won't have peace until I know where he went, and he certainly didn't deserve hell. He was a saint."

"Keep thinking that all is well, and you'll find out the hard way," said Successor, frustrated that Rob wasn't getting it, "It is when you let your guard down and think it is all well, you vanish into nothing. Join us and survive."

"I told you, I don't need you," said Rob, "What's not getting through?"

"No one refuses me, not after all that," snapped Successor, "Normally, that catches their attention and..."

"I told you: not interested!" said Rob, "What's wrong with your mind? Did daddy build the swing set too close to the wall when you were a little boy?"

Rob was motioning with his hand as if a swing was repeatedly smacking into a wall. Yet, that retort enraged Successor, taking that as a deep insult. He was up in Rob's face, grabbing Rob's lapel and thundering, "My father was an honorable man! How dare you insult him and call him stupid?"

Rob realized that he had already forgotten the tragedy of the Successor's father, but he didn't like this assault either, and said, "I apologize about that. I shouldn't insult your father, but I have plenty for you, and I've just begun. It's early yet."

Successor's eyes went wide, and his free arm began to raise, but Rob already struck up on Successor's wrist as he slammed down on the bend in his elbow and pulled down fast. When he went down, Rob slammed Successor's face into his bowl of stew and backed off. Successor was now in a fight mindset and wanted to rip Rob apart. "How dare you, insolent insect!" snapped Successor, and went to attack, believing his fighting skills were superior to Rob. He may have been smaller than Rob, but he was fit and wiry nonetheless, being deceptively strong. His teachers had always told him that size does not matter, only speed, leverage, and skill. However, in reality, that isn't entirely true. Size does not matter—IF—size has no ability to fight. However, if size has skills to match his smaller opponent's skill, then the saying goes as thus: if all things are equal, you bet on the big guy every time!

The paroles were now surrounding the scene, chanting, "Fight, fight, fight!" as they squared off. Yet, it was not much of one, as Successor went for a series of strikes, but when Rob saw his opening, he went for the single leg, got the Successor down, and before he realized what had happened, Rob had him in a tight leg lock, and Successor felt like his leg was about to come out of his hip. About this time, teachers with some size came up and separated the pair, and Rob as shocked to find out how strong they really were. They were both about to get hauled off to the detention area when paroles and people alike began to tell everything that happened. Considering Successor's reputation, they more believed he was to blame and felt Rob was defending himself. Because he had used minimal force, they let it go and warned Rob to steer clear from Successor from that point on. As they hauled him off, Successor thundered, "You'll regret this! I guarantee you! You shall go into oblivion like everyone else! Mark my words!"

Rob could not believe this, but now he had some motivation for the council, and he said to the teachers, "Put my name in for Council President!"

The campaign ran for two weeks. Successor, to try to counter this, tried to run one of his own who worked in support and still had a bit of reputation left, but because he was never in class enough, he was disqualified before long, and eventually, Rob was elected easily over the parole that was acting in that spot. He was now determined to use his position to stop the Front wherever he could. After the election, he was told that there was a room set aside for him. It was where a previous couple of presidents lived, and they figured it would be good for him. It was no different than any other, save for the computer in the room. He found it odd that the parole that was in there had no problems or grudge about moving out, but he had learned by this point that they only reacted to how you reacted to them, and really didn't seem to have a mind of their own. They even believed the lamest stuff you told them! They did have a memory and even spoke about the bullying incidents, but there as not much the teachers could do. They may catch one or two, put them in detention, but that would not stop the remainder from acting and melting into the woodwork when they wanted. Nonetheless, he began to settle in and get a feel for things. He noticed the computer at the desk and was amazed at its size. It was a good sized tower, but nothing huge, yet, looking it over, he could tell it was a server-style computer. "That's convenient," he thought, hoping to turn it on and find out what it could do. He knew it would be handy for school work and did not give it more thought...until he started to put his school supplies away and found what looked like a user's manual for a computer. By the markings on it and the system, he knew this was to that computer, but thought the name strange. "The Angel Player Computer System: Owner's Manual," he said, reading the cover, and surprised to find it in English. He opened it as he sat at the desk, and it didn't take much reading before he was flabbergasted, not only over what it could do, but by a handwritten section at the front written by one Otonashi. He then remembered that was the name Successor gave, and now he just had to read it. It started, "To he who has ownership of this system, congratulations! You hold in your hands the key of bringing peace and serenity to those under your care."

Rob set that aside for the moment and started to read the instructions—written by one Kanade Tachibana—and all of what it could do. Indeed, it was for far more than homework! It told him of how the machine could enhance him to protect himself from rebellious factions in the school, and went over how the system was to be used for that purpose, and all the endowments the owner would be granted. Yet, it really didn't make any sense, so he turned back to what looked like a handwritten forward and began to read the next sentences. It read, "Welcome to the Afterlife School. This place is an area of limbo set aside by the powers that be to give a second chance to those with tragic lives. It was here to give them a second chance to at least spend some time living a life here that they were denied before. However, I must mention before I go on that, because of the past of some others, factions always form to oppose the way things work here. As much as they fight, though, you must help them to move on as well, helping them come to their senses by whatever means you can, and, at the same time, protect those that obey the school rules and do as they are told. Oddly enough, allowance for rebellion is made, though limited, because it is all part of people coping with the past—venting anger for things, so to speak. However, things happen, your actions as Student Council President will aid in the flow of things."

He then turned the page, but saw only a small piece of paper with some writing on it that said, "Indeed, they should do this, because moving on is the goal here. However, it is more than just obeying the rules. Indeed, if the rebellious factions can be aimed in correct directions, than even you can be part, be class president, and then things that need to happen can happen. It has to be this way, because..." and that was where it was cut off. He then began looking all around the room, in the draws, wanting to see the rest. He knew there had to be more to this than that because of how it was written before it was cut off, but it was to no avail. There was no finding the paper. "Well, I guess I should at least do as the first part says, and encourage as many as I can to conform, and at least get the Front to channel their anger in better ways," he muttered to himself, "Maybe I can find the answer elsewhere. Yet, this thing gives me enhancements? You have to be kidding? How does that happen?"

He turned it on, now determined to find out. He switched on the monitor and system, and the opening screen came up with the name of the system on an artsy blue screen, and he began to follow the manual on start-up procedures. He finished the last commands, and then when he hit enter, everything went bright, and then he blacked out.

When he came to, he had more energy than he ever had before, and could not explain the amount of alertness that came with it. He swiftly went back to the machine, and saw on the monitor, "Transfer complete: access granted to all tools."

He don't know how it happened, but he had to believe that what he read was true because of all the things he had yet seen. With that, he dove into the manual, seeing exactly what those tools were and just what they could do.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Successor brooded and paced, not certain what Rob becoming class president would mean. Rob had no clue the danger he was in, and he knew that the Front was really the reason for the existence for everything. Otonashi as much said so before he too went into oblivion. Never in the lives of the Front did anyone ever have the liberty to live the lives they wanted to live, and now they had that. Yet, Otonashi had not been around long enough to entirely fill him in with how things were supposed to be, so he had to make it up as he went along. In his mind, rebellion meant full control of the school, and making everyone obey, because, well, when one rebels, there has to be some kind of goal or victory. Despite all he was doing, something nagged the back of his head, telling him that how he was treating the paroles was not the way to go. Yes, they seemed to have personalities, and, yes, they could remember and emote, but they were not people. His conscience was trying to tell him his group was no better than the terrorists that tormented him most of his life, yet, these were not people! Besides, he only got in the face of the real people if they resisted his efforts, and he never took meal tickets from them. He wanted them on his side at some point, and he did not need that bad blood with them. He knew Rob never really had a life, and he had to get him to understand that this was the only real life anyone could have in the place and truly survive. He would have to meet with the rest of the Front after their next ticket taking operation.

Rob spent most of that night going over the manual and going over the defense abilities Angel Player was giving to him. The first thing he tried was Hand Sonic, but he also saw the different kinds that had been listed by Tachibana, and there was also a note that said the wielder could shape it to face the need or if he or she wanted to be stylish. After a few fits and starts, he finally put his concentration into it and out from his sleeves came two blades tantamount to the blades that would normally be found on basket hilt Claymore sabers. After a bit of worry not being able to retract them, and then finally doing so, he tried Distortion. That one he found easier. He then tried Hand Sonic, but it did not happen. He then checked the manual again, and then found out that they could not be used at the same time. He brought it down and tried others, and so it went to about midnight. By that point, he was exhausted, but he was glad the next day was the one day off in the week the school allowed. He would indeed sleep in and get his strength back.

By the next morning, he was dead asleep, and a knock came at the door from one of the paroles, telling him that, if he didn't get up, he'd miss his breakfast in the cafeteria. Grumbling and wiping the sleep out of his eyes, he put on some sweats and called it good for the moment. He figured that, since it was the day off, there would not be so formal a setting for things. When he got there, he was happy he was right, as everyone was dressed down and enjoying their breakfasts. Many of the paroles greeted him, and they were close enough to normal that he actually found himself talking to them as normal people, showing them the same kind of concern as he would with normal people. Both normal humans and paroles were engaging him, asking him what his policies were going to be, how it felt to be class president, and so forth, and he just tried to play it off. It was actually a bit overwhelming, in that he was not used to such treatment, and he was just trying to get used to it. Despite all that, some eyes were on him that were not of curiosity. They were of the Front, and, though they were not really angry or vengeful, they did have this note of concern. Over what they were concerned he was not sure, but one thing he could figure, and that they were not friendly.

At the Guild, the Front was meeting and planning their newest grab. Successor then said, "There is a wood hike planned tomorrow afternoon, where there will only be two teachers, a couple of humans, and the rest paroles. The plan is to keep the humans out of it as we take the meal tickets."

"What about the teachers," said one, "We seldom do well when they get involved."

"Besides," another added, "When the paroles get together, they are hard to beat."

"This is why the entire force is going to be involved," answered Successor, "There will only be about 15 in all: two humans, two teachers, and the rest paroles. A few of us might get captured, but the majority of us will be able to get away with the tickets, and once you get out, we'll have your share. Remember: school rules only have a maximum of 12 hours detention, so you just chill, catch some sleep, and get ready for the next thing the next day."

"What about the new council president?" asked another.

"What about him?" responded Successor, "I did not see him on the schedule for the hike, so I wouldn't think he'd have a concern. Besides, he is one, we are twenty. What could he ever dream to do to us?"

Rob found himself active that day. As it turned out, this was a legitimate position, and not some role he was playing while there. There was concerns about this event or that, permission for this or that, individual class concerns, and everything that went with the job. Yet, when he heard some of the concerns, he made a mental note to personally visit the classes in question. He also heard in the meeting that day that there was a hike going on, and who would be involved. However, when he looked at the numbers and who was there, he got this gut feeling and said, "Where are they now!"

When they told him the hiking route, he said, "I have a bad feeling about this! If you will excuse me, I think I might be having to head off a disaster!"

He took off at that point, activating overdrive and heading to where they were at.

The hike seemed to be going off without a hitch, as the teachers were mentioning the flora around, but no fauna, considering the lack of animal life. Once they had hit the deepest part of the woods, the Front emerged, carrying makeshift clubs and such, (considering that they had not yet found out how to make other kinds of weapons,) and Successor said, "Sorry to spoil the fun, but you have something we need."

The two teachers took a defensive posture before the students and said, "You are going to pay dearly for this!"

"Oh, will we?" he asked, "And just what do you plan to do?"

The answer came unexpectedly, as Rob appeared in a blur before them and said, "They don't have to do nothing, Sunshine. Because, to get to them, you have to get through me! Your bullying days are over!"

"You? By yourself? You can't possibly..." but that was all Successor was able to say as he heard the sound of the two extending blades and the determined look in Rob's face as he said, "Gentlemen, I have come here to chew bubble gum and kick ass—and I'm all out of bubble gum!"

Their eyes went wide as he came in, seemingly with superhuman abilities. This was something they had never seen before, and now they wondered just what they stirred up. Instinct took over, and some tried to vainly defend, while others had more sense and ran for it. However, Rob was keeping it under control and basically cleaving the clubs out of their hands. Yet, one charged from his blind side, and he stuck him in the gut. The blade retracted as Rob stood there in horror, not wanting to have gone to that extent. He was now frightened that he had blown it all, and looking around, ran like the wind to get out of there. However, he was even more surprised to see that no one was chasing him down, and the more, were all going to subdue the Front and take them to the detention, as some carried the fallen man to the infirmary. He didn't wait around to find out his fate, he just went to his room, crouched on his bed and waited for them to come, and waited... ...and waited! No one ever came. He sat that way until supper and hunger made him dare venture out to see how things ere going.

He finally came out, wearing casual pants, sneakers, and his Irish white wool sweater. He headed towards the cafeteria very circumspectly, expecting someone to come and take him away at some point, but it never happened. As he went, he passed by the infirmary, and saw something he would have never expected to see. Because of who it was, he stayed in the shadows and looked in, but it was the boy he had stuck, but it seemed he was well, and because he had his shirt off as he was being treated, the wound had almost healed. It was then that he realized something, and was reminded of something painfully obvious: they could not die, because they were already dead. He had forgotten this because of how real things seemed to be, and how much they matched life. Yet, now that he had seen this, he realized, or at least guessed, that nothing happened because no one can die here. With that, he also realized that, though it may be heavy-handed, he could do some damage to this Front, and maybe get the point across to them that conforming might be a better idea as opposed to getting stomped into a mud hole all the time. This gave him a new vigor to do as he felt he needed to do. He was going to get these guys to knock it off, no matter what, even though something in his mind reminded him of the rebellion being a necessary evil. Yet, at this point, he could not understand how that could be.

By this point, four months had passed, and the Front were at some dire straits. The direct route of taking meal tickets would not work anymore, because for the few times they tried after that, Rob would show up and slice them up but good! They were spending more time in the infirmary than they were in class! Worse, in that time, his numbers had been whittled down to nine, because the other members began to just get sick of the pattern of things, and decided it would just be better to comply than to constantly get stomped by Rob, who they were beginning to call the Psycho Celt, because, if he was to patrol for them in casual clothes, he would often wear that Glenn Gary, white Irish sweater, and plain green kilt. On top of that, he would taunt them with his cutting glib comments. In fact, the next time they faced him after the hike, when it was a full 20-man effort again, Rob went crazy on them. He used blades, shields, even cloned himself temporarily as they went. Successor found a sword in his gullet as the last to fall, and before he passed out, he saw Rob's scowl as he said, "You fool: you do not throw rocks at a man who has a machine gun!"

He now had nine members left, and no possible way of fighting back. At their meeting, some had only had one meal a day for the past four, and they were all angry. One said, "Successor, what do we do? We either suffer malnutrition and be in pain all the time or conform..."

"...and disappear into oblivion as those quitters did!" snapped Successor, "Learn to ration the food you get and suck it up! We have to become cleverer and find better weapons!"

"Right," said one, "And what do we do: make grenade launchers out of the dirt?"

"Look, I don't know!" Successor snapped, frustrated and lost in thought.

However, one, as a joke started to form a crude looking grenade out of soil as a joke, saying, "Look, I made a grenade!"

However, he looked down again, and saw a hunk of round metal that looked crudely like a grenade. Everyone stared at him, stunned that this happened, but Sucessor said, "We may be onto something here."

It was at this point he realized that, whatever they shaped, that is what it would be. Of course it was not a grenade, so he tried his hand at a bullet. All he got was a chunk of metal shaped like a bullet, so he figured then that it was going to take building every little part. He then looked at them and said, "Do some research on ballistics to know what kind of ammunition to put into what, and even make some molds if you have to. Let's perfect this, because, if it works, he's seen his last day of stopping us!"

Rob, on the other hand, through those months, was actually very friendly and outgoing, being personable in all the classes with a need, and even got to the point where he even treated the paroles as if they were real people. Considering how they acted, it was not hard to do. He had seen many come and go of the normal people, but he took it in stride, knowing that, at least, this was what was supposed to happen, and even took a personal hand in trying to counsel some of them. It hurt a touch that faces came and went on a regular basis, but he was used to that in life anyway, but he even had certain paroles he thought friends, and because of that, he felt a contentment short of actually moving on himself, because he felt he owed it to everyone, as if to make up for not being able to save Father O'Malley. Yet, what made his heart soar was when over half the Front decided to stop playing games and start conforming to the rules. As he got to know them for the short time he did, he not only learned of their tragedies, and why they had a grudge against God, with his help, they learned to stop having such a grudge. However, what struck him the most was that about five of them vanished as they were talking to him about it! He was not certain, but he began to suspect that moving on was more than just complying. He filed that away, though, hoping to see more of these to know for sure. Still, he loved hearing those former Front members say that they had never known happiness until they complied, and were suddenly sorry they ever fought. That inspired Rob to help even more, and he thought, "_Father O'Malley, I am going to do all I can to make you proud of me_!"

For the next several months, the rest of the Front worked on some stealth operations, breaking into the rooms of the paroles at night and stealing some money to buy tickets as they had to, but it was always a touch-and-go operation, as they almost were caught on a few occasions. They had to ration out their food, and it was not easy, but they learned to tough it out, tightening up as a team. In that time, they put their noses to the grindstone, learning about weapons and ballistics, the different kind of weapons they could make, and so forth. However, having to fashion every part of the weapon set them back a bit. Yet, as they went, each one of them became such weapons experts as a result that they could probably put together an M-1 Garand in their sleep. They finally came up with a clay and mold system that allowed them to mass produce whatever they needed.

In the time they did this, they also tried to learn more about how the paroles functioned and thought, reacted to things, and other traits to find the best way to get the meal tickets out of them. They would need to learn clever ways of taking them en massé, and then storing them for when there were times of dry spells where they could not get anymore for a time. Yet, they also knew that, if they were able to take down Rob with what they had now, they could put an end to this mess and go back to they way it was before. As Successor held up their first successfully made assault rifle, he smirked and said to himself, "Okay, Rob, get ready! If I have learned enough about your glib comments, you would say yourself that you never bring a knife to a gunfight!"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

In the time it took to learn this craft, the Front had grown to 16. Five of the originals had retired themselves to the building of supplies and weapons, and a few even learned how to fashion clothes out of the dirt. They thus created combat-effective uniforms for direct confrontations against Rob. They had yet to actually use firearms on this scene, thus, they were not sure how it would work. However, they figured that he could bleed like they could, and thus, if they could incapacitate him and get into the infirmary, they could then keep him that way as he tried to recover. They needed to test this theory, though, and decided on a ruse. They would draw him out, and then trap him. They would wait for a time he would be patrolling for them, find a couple of paroles, start to fleece them for their meal tickets, and when he came out, they would turn him into small pieces if they could.

Armed with what would be the equivalent of FN-FAL rifles, and Successor with his choice of a .308 version of the Lee-Enfield, they were in uniform, and lay in wait for Rob. They waited a good 20 minutes before two paroles showed up and Rob was in sight, and a pair of them were still in school uniforms to try to make it like a normal taking of tickets as they went out. Their comrades had their rifles ready for them when they ran on sight of Rob. The orders were simple: don't fire until Successor plants one right between his eyes. The pair then went out and started to shove around the paroles, making demands. They even spoke loud enough to catch Rob's attention. Sure enough, the kilted Psycho Celt was there on the spot, and on first sight of them, the pair ran. Of course, taking the meal tickets was not the goal, and the plan seemed to be going okay. At this, in cover, Successor aimed his rifle and aimed for his head—right between the eyes. However, just as he pulled the trigger, Rob moved, and the bullet ripped through his shoulder. He screamed and growled in pain as he tried to get a bead on where the shot came from as the paroles took off in fear. For Successor, it was not what he wanted, but it did weaken Rob, and he shouted, "OPEN FIRE!"

The others fired in bursts, remembering what fully automatic with those weapons were like, having been knocked on their fannies. Successor was going with the Mad Minute with his, rivaling any semi-auto weapon. However, Rob heard the yell and brought up the Distortion shield. That caught the others by surprise as the bullets had no effect, and Rob pressed forward. Successor, loading another ten rounds, shouted, "Don't stop! Pour it on."

Even if the bullets didn't penetrate, it would slow his advance while they attempted to see if they could flank the shield. The opened up again, but Rob added Overdrive to his effort and started to close the distance faster. When they started to reload new clips, he dropped the shield and advanced, blades extended. Seeing this, Successor said, "Fire now!"

However, Rob then used Delay, having closed to close range, and they all aimed at a decoy. He then activated Harmonics, and now they faced about ten Psycho Celts, all extending blades. Because they were so close now, they could not get their rifles to shoulder fast enough before the clones descended on their foe. The screams of pain echoed throughout the compound now as they were being subdued. Rob himself saw the five that were trying to flank and went into Sonic Rotation. Before they could fire, they were facing a buzz saw and were quickly cut down. Now, only Successor stood to face him. He shouted, "You freak! You are not human!"

"Oh, I'm more than human," said Rob, "And you need a reality check. I am the reality check!"

Successor vainly tried to fire, but he put up his shield again, and then hit Successor with Howling. He moaned in pain and soon lost consciousness. By this point, the teachers and paroles were coming to where the fight had been, and now were dragging off the bloody mess to the infirmary. Successor, however, being unhurt, was taken straight to detention for another 12 hour stay. Once the others recovered, they would be put there as well. Rob called back the clones, and once they were back, he sighed at how they were just not getting it.

Rob had seen many come and go, but it was not that he just let things pass. He was not a recluse, and he took a direct hand where he could, helping to counsel them into moving on if he could. He really wasn't sure why counseling them was helpful, because he knew that just doing what you were supposed to should have been enough. Yet, it seemed that, when they faced their past, and got peace over it, it happened. There had to be something to it, so he figured that moving on, however it happened, was how things were supposed to be. The Front was being foolish as far as he was concerned, yet what ate at him was the small comment on the paper that said rebellion was actually necessary, but because the rest of the paper was missing, he was not sure how it fit into the equation. All it did was disrupt the peacefulness that helped people moved on. What he did know was that everyone came to the school with some kind of baggage, and he knew that Successor was carrying several pieces of baggage, and worst of all, having a grudge against God. Rob knew he could have ended up as they had not Father O'Malley not been there to screw his head back on straight. How could one get through to someone like that? Moreover, this made him wonder how deep the scars ran in the members of the Front. That would be a question that would have to be answered another day. What was the immediate need was to try to deal with them now, knowing that they had firearms, and were not shy about using them. What he would have to do is find out where they kept them and get rid of them before the place began to look like downtown Belfast, Ireland at the height of the wars there between Ulster and Ireland proper.

Rob got up early the next day and tended to some things, including helping to push someone across the line who was close to moving on. He knew that the school had some crazy rule about not detaining someone for more than twelve hours, so he decided that, as soon as they were released, he would sneak after them and find out where they hid.

Meanwhile, the Front seethed in their cells, angry they had hit him with some hard stuff and he had kept coming. They knew he was human, because, before all this started, he was just like the others. He becomes council president, and then he turns into this ersatz superhero. Considering how they had their little war against God going on, they had to figure that His hand was involved somehow. Rob was acting like Mr. Super-Saint when they first met, and because he was such a kiss-up to authority, they had to figure He was empowering him somehow. In fact, one in the cell with him said, "Sir, are you sure we should be doing this? If God is helping him, what chance to we have?"

Successor was about to scold him, but he then stopped. Indeed, one could have considered it folly to think one could fight a deity. There was no way to go for Him directly. On the other hand, He seemed to—before this time—had little care in anything that went on in this place, and so all their actions was to try to draw God out, if anything, to get some answers. Yet, in their doing so, they may have caused a worse problem in the form of Robert P. Toombs, the Psycho Celt. Successor then said, "Who says we have to kill him outright?"

They all looked at Successor oddly, and he said, "First of all, when his defenses were down, I managed to catch his shoulder before he moved his head out of my scope. It ripped right through him, and it did some damage, though he was able to heal it fairly swiftly. He can be stopped. What we have to do is keep him occupied while we run our operations on getting the meal tickets, money, or anything else we need. However, if we can catch him in a lapse of thought for one moment, where his guard is down, we may be able to do enough damage to him at one time from which he won't be able to recover quickly. Once he is incapacitated, we can lock him somewhere where even his powers would be no good. After that, we have the free reign. The point is, we can't defeat God directly, but if we can continually cause Him pain by doing what we do, we can make Him pay for every moment of misery he caused us in our short and miserable lives! Ladies and gentlemen, we do have a purpose for living now, and considering our plight, and how we got here to start with, who could gainsay our actions?"

They all looked back and forth at one another, and it all now seemed to make sense. If this was what it took to keep from oblivion, and to get paybacks in the process, then so be it. They had to do what they had to. Successor then said, "Once we get out, we get down to the old Guild where the previous resistance had set up their shop. It is so convenient that there was something they left behind with which we can work. We start two projects: one, how do we get the meal tickets considering, and two, constructing a cell, tomb, or what have you, strong enough to hold Rob. Get yourselves a good feed today and then report to the Guild. We have much work to do!"

It was now morning, and the 12 hours from the event to that point had passed. A few of the bigger teachers came down to open the door and let them out. The one acting in the role of the principle said sharply and said, "Let this be a lesson to you people! Straighten up and fly right, or worse will happen!"

Of course, this was the same thing they always said, being that they were just paroles themselves, only doing and saying what they had been programmed to do and say. They gave them not even a glance as they passed by, heading to breakfast and preparing to spend about half the day goofing off in the classes, but not causing enough of a disruption to get them back into detention again, and then head to the Guild after a big lunch feed. Successor finally said, "Oh, don't worry: things change from this day on."

At lunch, the Front came to get as much as they could so they could take something with them, knowing they would be spending the rest of the day, and some of the evening in planning. Successor had barely gotten his first spoonful of food to his mouth when Rob came in to get his own lunch. This was not unusual, in that they had seen each other in the lunch room many times before, but said nothing to one another. In fact, Successor did what he could to avoid Rob, but it made his heart beat faster when Rob came up and sat across from him! Rob saw his face and said, "Only place left to sit," and ate as if what had happened the night before had not happened at all. Successor started to eat, acting like he was not even there, but the tension was thick enough to walk on. Finally Successor said, "So, did you come to gloat?"

"Gloat about what?" asked Rob as he took another bite out of his sandwich, not even looking up from the plate. Successor got a smirk on his face and said, "And you think that after we get out of detention, we'll be like good little paroles and behave after what happened last night?"

Rob finished his bite and took a sip of his drink and said to him, "I am just wondering how long you are going to be a stubborn Missouri Mule and realize you are spitting into the wind."

Successor tapped his fork on his plate as he stared at Rob, and then he said, "In other words, when are we going to accept that we can't win and give into oblivion?"

"Too bad you see it like that," answered Rob, still perfectly calm and enjoying his sandwich. Successor was not sure how to take Rob's behavior, and he said, "What I wonder is when you are going to realize that God is a cruel puppet master who will evaporate you when your usefulness is fulfilled? Every member of the Front could tell you a story, and you know mine. The common denominator for all of us is that, God could have done something to rescue every one of us, but instead, he allowed us what we got. If He was the loving God everyone makes Him out to be, he would have been there! He allowed this, and the worst cruelty possible, and then He puts us here as the last insult! Worse, you're doing His bidding, helping to destroy souls, not knowing you only delay your doom."

Rob had continued to eat his lunch the whole time he spoke, and he knew this boy had such a big grudge that there was probably no reasoning with him. Finally, Rob just said, "Dude, your head is a box of fluffy ducks."

Before Successor could react, Rob then said, "First of all, what you have done is called God the Devil. You act like he plays with people like toys, but after what little learning I got in these matters from Father O'Malley, I know God doesn't act like this. I don't think I can explain it all that well, but I hate it when people ask why God lets bad things happen to good people, because, from my time, in what I saw, the same amount of bad things happen to bad people too! Only it is not look at in that way, because people have the attitude that, when it happens to bad people, its their just desserts. Yet, whose to say? I certainly didn't know God well enough to know his mind then, and I really can't say I've learned much more since I've been here. Yet, you know, I find it funny that people who think themselves good people, who would say the would never wish bad things on people, that many of them would then applaud a horrible end for people they consider bad. If that is the case, are they as good as they claim? Hey, I don't know the answer to that, but, well, I guess what I am saying is that, before I pass judgment on God about these things, I have to ask just how much God is behind anything we choose to do."

Now, there were some in the room that were mere students, but human, and they had all stopped their talking to hear this. Successor wanted to lash out at this, but at the same time, he did not know at what to strike. He finally said, "You seem to think you have all the answers."

"No," he said, "All these were, were just brain droppings. This just popped into my mind as I pondered them speaking to you. I don't have the answers to any of this. It's just guesswork, you could say, but more me just hoping that I can learn these answers before saying one way or another."

"Well, after what we have seen, we have our answers!" he snapped, "We know who and what to blame!"

"Is it that?" asked Rob, now looking at him with a feel of someone who indeed had some real authority, "Or is it that you would rather not come to grips with your past? Why not blame the men that did what they did?"

"Oh, don't worry," he said, "That hate has not waned, but I have more hate for a God that let innocent people suffer for no reason and not answer the prayers of those who so desperately cried to him for help!"

It then dawned on Rob the real issue: it was not so much they wondered where God was more than it was that they, like most people Rob knew, wanted God at their beckoned command; the wanted the Creator to obey the created. Rob had spent enough time on the streets meeting bums and gang bangers who wanted to blame the whole world for their ills rather than asking either how they put themselves in this mess, or how they could seek God to get them through it if He would not get them out of it. Could it be that God was trying to get people to seek Him the right way? Could it be that God did answer and show them a way out, but they failed to see it because they expected—no, demanded—that God answer the way _they_ wanted? It was because he wanted to understand God's mind better so he could better deal with the current situation that he now realized they never stopped to seek to know what God's will for them in that situation and what HE wanted them to do, not what THEY wanted HIM to do. Finally, Rob said, "You know, when I first met Father O'Malley, I was an angry runaway, turning as bitter as others I had met on the street, but he said to me, 'Okay, so this is the hand you were dealt, Robbie. Ya still hafta play the hand, lad. How ya gonna play it?' I wasn't sure what he meant by that, so he then said, 'Robbie, there's an old sayin': when life hands ya a bunch of lemons, ya make lemonade!' I asked him, 'Where's God, father?' and he said, 'Only as far from ya as ya want 'em ta be, or close. What He may wanna know is how you choose to handle the situation. Ya may not understand why it happens the way it does, but it's not for us ta know. Either He's gonna get us out of it, or through it, but one thing I do know: donna be so focused on how ya want God ta act that ya miss how God wants YOU ta act.'"

Successor now looked confused, and Rob said, "I guess what I am saying is, if you wanted God to act, did you ever once ask Him what He wanted YOU to do in that situation? If you did, and you didn't do it, then who is to blame then? If you didn't, then why not? Or, did you, somewhere along the line, decide that God was to blame to the point where, when He gave you the way to either fix the problem, or cope with it, you missed it completely!"

Successor's face turned beat red as he stood in a rage and yelled, "HOW DARE YOU BLAME ME FOR WHAT HAPPENED!"

"I wasn't," said Rob, trying to calm him, but Successor went on, "If you knew the stories of some of these people, you would not have the guts to say what you just said! Some of them had sicknesses for which there was no cure, crippling injuries from which there was no recovery, and certainly shortened some of their lives! WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO TELL THEM! Cope with it; you have got to be kidding me! They were never given the chance to do anything they dreamed! THEY WERE ROBBED!"

Dead silence was now over the room. Normally, in disruptions, the teachers would come over and deal with them, but for some reason, they were just standing at the perimeters ready to act, but letting things go. For many people who were human, but not part of the Front, they were more interested in seeing how Rob answered that. Instead of becoming mad, Rob, who normally had a short temper, was trying not to drop to that level and finally answered, "I know I ain't the smartest guy, or maybe the sharpest tool in the shed. Yet, I kind of think that living the life I lived taught me things a school book never could. If I said I had all the answers, I'd be a horrible liar. All I can do is fall back on what I learned in those four years when the padre and I talked about these kinds of things. I do recall asking him once about why people die so young, and he said to me, 'Son, no one knows the time they're gonna check outta this world. Some could look at a child dyin' very young, or as a babe as tragic. Yet, you could also say they had mercy, because the didina hafta see the evils of the world, struggle as we hafta, didina live long enough ta have done any evil. It's all how ya look at it, lad. Yet, because none of us knows when our time is, ya hafta ask yerslef: are ya livin' yer life as if today was gonna be your last? Are ya makin' the most of whatcha been givin'?"

He then gave me the book _Anne Frank: the Diary of a Young Girl_. It was then I understood that you have to live everyday to the fullest no matter the situation, because as the good father always told me, all it takes is for your heart to skip a beat once and not start again."

Now it was so quiet in the room you could have heard a fly walking on the wall. A centipede would have sounded like the 3rd Reich marching by. Successor, however, was exasperated. How in the world could Rob think like that, knowing what Rob knew about His past? Make the most of what he had? He was never given the chance. Yet, Successor's anger was beyond words now, but now was not the time for physical confrontation. He looked around and said, "Front: is everyone done? Let's go!"

Everyone got up to go—except one—one of his best Guild workers. He said, "Juan, let's go!"

"I..." he started to say, haltingly, "I... I just don't know anymore."

"What!" he said, "You know what that drug cartel did to..."

"NO!" he said, "I can't say how, but I think he makes sense! I can't do this anymore!"

He looked over at Juan, then Rob, then back at Juan, and said, "Fine! Go into oblivion! Act like everything doesn't matter—didn't matter!"

Juan was like his right hand in crafting what they needed. They had others, but Juan helped make it all work smoothly, and this loss would work. He then looked at Rob and said, "This is an official declaration of war! I SHALL see you destroyed!"

With that he was gone. Suddenly, there was some murmuring, as two of the normal students vanished right before their eyes. Then Juan asked one of the teachers, "Is that book in the library, the one that Rob mentioned?"

"I believe so," said the teacher, and Rob said, "Come on: I'll help you find it."

Suddenly, a sense of peace filled the room, and the pair as they left the lunch room. Rob felt such a sense of satisfaction at that point, knowing that he was able to get through to at least one of them. That meant that there was hope for the rest. He would find their lair another day. There was someone that needed him now.

They were able to find a hard cover copy of the book, and the pair went back to Juan's room to talk. They spent a couple of hours talking, and then Juan said he wanted to start reading the book. Rob then said he'd check on Juan the next morning to help ease him into classes and a steady life. He left Juan reading, having a smile on his face as he read.

He did not have to worry about getting him settled.

The next morning, Rob went to his room hoping to have breakfast with him. He knocked, but there was no answer. He knocked again, and again, no answer. Thinking he might still be asleep, he quietly opened the door to check on him, but all he found was the book on the bed, open to the last entry of Anne Frank that stated she still believed that, despite it all, people were still good at heart. Rob knew what had happened. There was no need to ask. He smiled, nodded, and then quietly closed the door as he went to breakfast himself, and prepared for his classes and duties that day.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

About four months passed, and Successor was happy that he was able to fill up his ranks to the point where he had at least a platoon of people working. However, things had to be more and more covert to get the meal tickets they needed, and supplies were running out. At the general meeting of people there, he said, "We have to get the tickets somehow, or things are going to go hard. We cannot die, so the hunger and thirst would nearly put us comatose, except we would be conscious the whole way. We have to find a way to get massive amounts of meal tickets or money to get it. I need ideas, or all of this has been in vain."

At the table with him was six of his best lieutenants: first was Sun-Lo-Pak from North Korea. Many of his grudges stemmed from being in the oppressive governments of the Kim family, and he had lived in gulags his whole life. It was when he spoke badly of the country's leader that he was dragged out, beaten, tortured, and then shot for treason. However, he had worked in supply depots his whole life, so his logistics knowledge kept everything organized.

Then there was Antoinette Inchardi out of Paris. She had lived the life of an artists and bohemian, which, to say the least, was not the most lucrative life. However, she had parents that did not approve of her life, and they were very abusive to her. They were reliant on her working to make ends meet, but she spent more time on her art. Sadly, one night, when she had brought home a lot of money for a painting she had done, because it had not come by what her father called "an honest day's work," she was beat to death by him in a drunken rage. She brought with her an eye for detail when it came to finding things and keeping things organized. Being an artist, she could really think outside the box.

Then there was Jeff Durham. He had hailed from Los Angeles, California, and had never once seen outside the gang life. He tried to avoid the gangs all his life, but no matter what, he always found himself forced into his brother's gang's activities. Sadly, one night, when he and his brother were at a block party, a rival gang came in and did a drive-by shooting. His brother was the target, but he took the bullets himself. Yet, because of his knowledge of the use of weapons and street fighting, he was invaluable.

With them was big Timothy St-Pierre. He hailed from Jamaica, and though he was poor, did not have all that bad a life, but was actually in training to be a professional wrestler. He saw the chance to rise above his situation and hoped this was the way out for him and his family. Yet, during training, another pupil in the school put him in a pile driver the wrong way and broke his neck. He died almost instantly. However, because of that training, he brought with him another knowledge of fighting, and this in the sense of grappling.

Then there was Vladimir Karloff. He hailed from the Cossack country of Russia. He was a woodsman, but his village was always being harassed by both separatist terrorists and Russians who looked down on the Cossacks. Still, he was able to eventually start to get some schooling and good work to turn things around until the rebels held his village hostage. Because of difficulties of the Spetznas getting to them, the seeming lack of response caused them to gun down the entire village. Vlad brought with him knowledge of wilderness survival and tactics that made the Russians feared for centuries.

Finally, there was Yuki Tanaka. She grew up in the poor parts of Tokyo, and had to deal with Yakuza her whole life. Yet, she was a budding student and had gotten into computer programming in order to try to find a good school, job, or whatever it took to get them out of there. However, her family ended up desperate and made the mistake of taking a loan from a Yakuza loan shark, and this added an impossible burden financially to them on top of the "protection money" they were being forced to pay. One night, when they could not pay anymore, they were dragged into their shack, beaten, the woman raped, then everyone was tied, doused with gasoline, and the whole place was torched. She brought with her computer programming that, if they were able to obtain one, they could put that to use themselves.

They sat around the table, and Annie said, "Well, one thing I have seen is that the paroles get easily riled and attracted to group events. If a scrap breaks out, they instantly form a crowd. When someone messes with a guitar, it instantly draws a crowd."

Sun asked, "So, how does that help us?"

"We could do things that would cause a crowd and then we could take their money, meal tickets, or whatever," she answered.

Jeff then said, "What then—do we hold them up when the gather?"

"Don't be foolish," answered Successor, "There has to be a way to get the things we seek from them in that."

"What about using that to distract the paroles while we get whatever from whomever?" asked Vlad.

"Hey, man, you may be onto something," said Tim, "In fact, I have the way we can do it! We stage wrestling bouts."

This was met by stares and thunderous silence. "What?" he asked, as if his question had not been ridiculous, "We have plenty of men and women who are big enough to do this. I can train them. I can teach our techs how to make the ring we need and have regular shows."

Everyone was still scratching their heads over that one, except for Successor. He then asked, "Are you certain you can train them?"

"Of course, man," he answered, "I know what I am doing. We could put on a great show."

Successor pondered it more, and then he said, "Then, if we do this, we can rightfully charge money or meal tickets, sell concessions, make a cut that way, making what we do legitimate. We could then get Rob off our backs, but also use the event to sneak into rooms to steal more money and meal tickets from the paroles, maybe even the machines. We could do this, and no one would be the wiser."

Suddenly, this did not seem such a bad idea, and Yuki then said, "We could take one night and go into Rob's room if he is out of it for the event, and we can learn all about him."

Successor began to smirk and said, "This sounds so ridiculous that it just might work. Tim, get to work on designing the ring and find volunteers for this. I'll send someone to petition for this, because I do not think the council, especially headed by Rob, would listen to me."

With that, they got to work and decided where they would do this and when, but then Successor asked, "Tim, would you wrestle?"

"Oh no," he said, "Someone has to act as the booker and work the shows. Sun could handle the logistics, but I would have to coordinate the shows, story lines, that kind of thing. I'd love to wrestle. It would be fulfilling a dream."

"All the better you don't" responded Successor, "Since some kind of contentment is one of the things we've learned that makes people disappear, you just might disappear during your first match."

"Good point," said Tim, "Let's get to work."

Rob was finding it fulfilling to be able to help people move on, but, as social as he was, he still had to distance himself. He saw how quickly some people came and went if he was able to get to them before the Front did. Some stayed only for about half a day as his talking to them and about a couple periods of class were all that was needed to help them reconcile their pasts. Others were harder nuts to crack. Some had some hard grudges, but he had gotten to them before the Front, and he was able to help them on the right track to where they needed to go. Some of them needed two weeks to a month before they came to grips with things, and then they were on their way. It hurt not to have any real friends, but then, how he grew up, relationships had all been fleeting anyway having been on the go his whole time, so he had learned to be content with having many acquaintances and not many friends. All he did was take from them what he could learn and grew himself. He never had a real family, and Father O'Malley and this place were as close as he had ever come to having that. Still, this was a good work, and he was willing to stay on to help as many has he could. The only thing that got to him was how hard headed those in the Front were, and he so wanted to get past those blocks. Thus, it came as a complete surprise to him when one of the front members entered the council meeting with the wrestling proposal. Rob always had to take anything they did with a grain of salt, knowing that they almost always had an ulterior motive. Yet, he looked over the proposal, and oddly enough, what they wanted to do seemed pretty legit: it would be outside events, a head charge of money or meal tickets would be asked, concessions would be sold as well as souvenirs, and they would put on a show that would not cause harm to the school. He looked at the one who delivered the proposal and he said, "You know, I'll consider this. Give me a few days with the council here and we'll see what we can do."

The Front member smiled, nodded, and went his way. Rob actually admired how they were trying to do something honest for a change, and after talking it over, he had no problem with approving this. To him, if this got them to wake up, so much the better.

Successor got word back in a couple of days, and a training area had already been constructed. He was ecstatic that Rob had bought it hook, line, and sinker. Tim picked not only some of the best in the Front, but he was also eager to take on some of the others that were not Front members to use for the shows. They would be used as talent enhancement, knowing how quickly some disappeared, but Successor realized that he could use that to recruit new members if there was something there with which to work. Tim said it would take about a month to teach them enough to put on a show, and he would add to their training over time to put on better and better shows. He could not wait.

Two weeks later, Successor was out in the afternoon sun, enjoying the always mild weather and heard some moaning coming from the underbrush. Curious, he went over, and found half-conscious was a Japanese girl who was wearing the normal girl's uniform. Typically, paroles did not have this happen to them, so he had to assume that this was a newcomer. He spotted a couple of Front members and signaled them over. Quickly looking around, they spirited off the girl to the Guild before Rob found her and hoped they could work on her to get her to be a part of them.

After letting her rest, she eventually sat up and looked around. Seeing some of the people around her keeping a vigil, she asked as would have been expected, "Where am I? Who are you people?"

She then grabbed her head and swooned a touch, not sure why she was feeling this way, and someone asked, "Do you know who you are?"

She started to speak, and then she stopped, and she said, "I...I... I can't remember!"

Some of them nodded, and Successor, said, "That is okay. Where you are is such that we get that happen more frequently than we wish."

"So, where am I?" she asked, still confused.

"That is a little hard to explain," answered Yuki, "because what I am about to tell you will sound crazy. Can you walk?"

The stranger put her feet on the floor, and after testing her steadiness, she said, "Yes, it's okay."

"Then, follow me," answered Yuki.

Once they were outside, the stranger could see the hills, nothing but trees as far as the eye could see, and the school with the dorms. "What is this place?" she asked.

"Would you believe that this is the afterlife?" asked Yuki in return.

The newcomer stared at her, and she said, "Are you saying...*gulp*...that I'm dead!"

"You are dead, and yet not dead," Yuki answered, and then had to quickly steady the now woozy newcomer, not sure how to take that answer. Yuki then said, "Look, we call this place the Afterlife School for the lack of a better term. Everyone that is here had a bad life or traumatizing death, and they end up here. Sometimes, they have amnesia, because their deaths were caused by a blow to the head. However, if they start playing by the rules, it is not long after that they disappear."

"Where do they go?"

"Oblivion, we assume."

"What a cruel thing to do to someone who had it bad! But, are you sure it is oblivion?"

"What else could it be? I mean, whatever higher power that is out there handed us a bad hand and nothing good ever came to us. Then, in his last stroke of cruelty, brought us here to some supposed bliss, only to make us disappear without telling us where anyone goes."

The newcomer thought about this, and then she said, "Are you saying the blissful faces I see on some of them is a trap?"

"Something like that—you see, they think all is well, and then..."

Just as she was answering, there were some boys out playing some Rugby, and one boy, who was human, managed to catch a good pass, break a tackle, and charge forward sprinted 40 yards and dove into the end zone for the try. He stood up, cheering and elated, and probably a touch more than what would be for most folks making a score. Yet, just as this was happening, he vanished into thin air. The handful of humans around saw this and muttered this or that, but the paroles acted like nothing happened, and a parole came in and took his spot. The newcomer was horrified, saying, "I don't want that to happen to me!"

Yuki smiled and said, "Good, so come with me. We'll tell you how to avoid that, and hopefully, we can get your memories back."

When they had returned, Successor was there to greet her warmly and said, "So, what have we here?"

"Someone else with amnesia," said Yuki, "She just watched another vanish, and she doesn't want that to happen to her."

He smiled and hugged her, saying, "Don't worry: stay with me and I will protect you. You are safe in this world save for one danger, and that is someone who seems to wants to see people vanish like that. He shall do all he can to stop us, and we cannot allow that."

"I don't understand," she said, still a bit disoriented.

"You see, if people obey the school rules and attend, depending on their frame of mind about their past life," he answered, "When they become content, they vanish. I've seen it take less than a day, and I have seen it take weeks, but it happens sooner or later."

"So, what is this all about?" she said, hearing the sounds of the ring in another room echoing down the hall.

"This is the Front," he said, "Because God was so cruel to us in life and wants to play this last insult on us, we stand against Him and refuse to conform. Of course, not conforming means we get no food or money, but we have ways of getting that. Part of it is the sounds you hear behind you."

"This place is frightening," she answered, rubbing her hands on her arms.

"Fear not," he said, confidently, "I am pledged to help all souls that come to me. It is scary at first, but it will be day-to-day before long. In time, you may regain your memories, and we can help you cope with that. Welcome to our home."

He looked at her and said, "And now, what do we call you? Since your memory is gone, I am sure you don't remember your name."

Yuki looked over the petite cute girl, and she said, "I know: Chi-Chan!"

"Is that bad or good?" the girl asked in confusion.

"It is good!" she said, "I think it fits you."

"Right," said Successor, "Welcome home, Chi-chan!"

She smiled and nodded, feeling safe for the first time she had been there. He then said, "Come and see what we have worked on."

He put his arm around her comfortingly and led her to the gym of the Guild.


End file.
